I’ve never done anything but dream. This, and this alone, has been the meaning of my life. My only real concern has been my inner life. FERNANDO PESSOA

Sunday, 5 May 2013

Spring Suddenly

after long weeks of waiting,
of dead lambs in the snow,
green daffodils, all stalk
and no trumpet, a single
brimstone’s drunken flight,
the silence of owls –
                       
spring happens
in a flash, a cymbal crash
of colours –
forsythia yellow, maythorn white
and cherry pink – zing zing zing –
all mad and new –
the sky a bluebell blue,
tulips shouting red,
bursting buds and eggs and mouths
flinging open to the sun –

an orchestra of birds –
the skylark’s piccolo,
cacophony of rooks,
loud guttural
fanfare of pheasants,
a cockerel’s brassy cry,
crescendo of swifts
screaming like demented violins –

then, gradually –
sweet measured grace notes of the warbler,
wood pigeon’s sleepy sostenuto,
the fading of those first outrageous blooms –

muted, we sigh and settle
contentedly into summer.

3 comments:

George said...

Loved this poem, Robert. Your joy is both palpable and infectious!

Ruth said...

This wonderful poem could have been written about spring in Michigan too! A sudden burst out of winter's clutches. I love the details, which are very visual. Then I am just so happy at the penultimate stanza when things settle down, and we find the graceful transition to summer. You've really caught my emotions, though we're still in the eruption, before the graceful settling. Looking forward to it.

The Solitary Walker said...

Thanks, you both! I really enjoyed writing this. (Just changed 'that first outrageous blossom' to 'those first outrageous blooms' and added a 'contentedly' to the last line' – improvements, I hope.)